The next great African rap battle may be upon us. In late June, Nigerian rap artist Blaqbonez took aim at colleague ODUMODUBLVCK on "Who's Really Rapping," a joint track with mentor A-Q, who has been in his fair share of rap beefs. Odumodu has fired off a litany of posts on X (formerly Twitter) and talked about it on podcasts, but it would take an official response for things to get interesting.As far as hip-hop goes, fans love a spectacle, and passion is a potent selling tool. Where can there b
The next great African rap battle may be upon us. In late June, Nigerian rap artistBlaqboneztook aim at colleagueODUMODUBLVCK on "Who's Really Rapping," a joint track with mentor A-Q, who has been in his fair share of rap beefs. Odumodu has fired off a litany of posts on X (formerly Twitter) and talked about it on podcasts, but it would take an official response for things to get interesting.
As far as hip-hop goes, fans love a spectacle, and passion is a potent selling tool. Where can there be greater delivery of passion than in diss tracks, rude and immediately beside you. At the chagrin of critics and less-than-pleased curators, diss tracks are peak moments for the culture, for fan bases, and consequently, a powerful PR tool.
FromM.I Abaga and Vector toAKA andCassper Nyovest, there's a solid history of rap beefs in African rap, and they've produced some truly memorable diss songs. Below are 10 essential diss tracks in that canon.
M.anifest – "godMC"
When years of sneak disses culminated in a lyrical sparring between two of Ghana's most revered rappers, it was everything the audience had expected. Rappers are known for talking the mean talk, and betweenSarkodieandM.anifest, there has been a lot of that over the years, with their battle taking on even more importance considering they represent unique styles within the soundscape. On "godMC," M.anifest banks on the purist sensibilities that have won him the adulation of peers and listeners, pulling out a wide range of references as he sought to sink the Sark into hip-hop's hell. From Greek mythology to the Fela-invoking production, the rapper spared no punches as he cautioned the opposition "don't measure your pen to mine, you pantomime and asinine / And you wanna be king, get your ass in line."
Ruggedman – "Ehen"
Nigerian hip-hop has arguably never seen a rapper as magnetic as Ruggedman. At the start of the 2000s, he took gleeful swings at any and everybody, critiquing the establishment with the same vim he had for rappers. "Ehen" is undoubtedly his centerpiece as a troubadour, with Ruggedman wielding a flamethrower potent enough to torch anyone.
Dissing top English-speaking acts like Eedris Abdulkareem, Black Reverendz, and Rasqui for their lack of street material, he would set the precedent for a lingual and cultural conversation that would echo years later in "Local Rappers." Even at the time of its release, "Ehen" was remarkably impactful, succeeding as a commercial darling with its radio jingle-like harmony, a cadence that rings familiar to the average Nigerian on the street.
Cassper Nyovest – "Dust To Dust"
Going personal in diss records is one way to stun the opponent into submission, but even by that logic, "Dust To Dust" is a devastating record. Over five minutes of thumping bass and drums, Cassper Nyovest suggests several things about his chief rival, the now-departed AKA, with whom South Africa's biggest beef was shared. Its origin dates back to 2014, which would stretch and loosen back and forth for the next half-decade, resulting in a few jabs here and there. But AKA went direct with the phenomenal "Composure," and Cassper had to reply with equal ferocity and tact, which understandably led him down the personal route. "I'm writing this at the crib shooting free throws / You stayed in a town house that was owned by Oskido," raps Cassper on the third verse, audibly sounding agitated, breathing down the beat with a style that recalls the quintessential 2Pac flow.
M.I Abaga - “The Viper”
Intricacy has always been a defining quality in M.I's art. With his early projects in the 2000s, he redefined the scope of the Nigerian rap album, successfully blending pop runs with the sweet essence of rhyming. "The Viper," his diss record aimed at longtime competitor Vector, was as harrowing a cadaver inspection as it was an olive branch extended.
Swinging at the edges of mercy and punishment, he employs biblical allegory to dissect the history between himself and Vector, ranging from their handling of the BET cypher to what M.I. considers Vector's inability to "put anybody in position." It's a fine display of M.I.'s incredible arsenal as a rapper, from his production of the song to the social commentary he successfully incorporates in his scathing attack.
Vector – "The Purge" feat. Vader & Payper Corleone
On "The Purge," Vector assembled one of the most compact diss records that the Nigerian rap scene has witnessed. Tensions were stoking between his and M.I's camp, fuelled mainly by the rap cyphers that both veteran rappers steered. By the time of release, it was no secret that both rappers' cliques didn't like each other, and "The Purge" took things up a notch by standing on business (and crucially, on wax). Vader takes shots at Blaqbonez, Payper swings on everyone from Loose Kaynon to A-Q, and Vector expectedly goes for M.I. "Africa rapper number one my ass, boy the flavor left," he rapped, referencing the latter's 2010 hit song, while swinging other sharp personal jabs.
Modenine - "Elbow Room"
For many, Modenine represents the pinnacle of lyricism in Nigerian rap. At his peak, which was much of the 2000s, he often rapped with the cold force of an unsullied, his barrage of punchlines slicing through boom bap beats with the sharpness of Valyrian steel. That unsparing lyrical precision is the hallmark of "Elbow Room," a speculative diss that remains as scathing as it was nearly two decades ago.
Amidst industry rumors of a beef with Ruggedman, and whispers of an already recorded diss song that eventually didn't see the light of day, Modenine got preemptive with "Elbow Room," sonning his adversary before things got heated. From the first line where he threatens to run over foes, every line is unfurled with a focused fury. By the time he delivered the death knell with "Talking to You," it was a potent sequel to the unsparing tone set by "Elbow Room."
Sarkodie - “Kanta”
Sarkodie takes umbrage at any question that casts doubt on the credibility of his pen and his greatness as a rapper. Those things were at stake when M.anifest called him out on the thinly veiled, subliminal-packed "godMC." While the beef itself never really boiled over into a protracted back-and-forth, "Kanta" was Sarkodie's unfazed reply. Taking sonic cues from American rapper Desiigner's viral hit, "Panda," Sarkodie swings for the fences and hits a home run.
Sark's trademark rat-tat-tat, machine gun flow is the vehicle for barbed lines that simultaneously extol his greatness and dismiss M.anifest as credible competition. "Sark no go diss you for nothing/nigga, already you suffering," he quips in utter disgust. Sidestepping punchlines for heft, Sarkodie raps every line like he's trying to set off the Richter scale, going a cappella with some words of advice when the beat switches off. "Kanta" didn't necessarily hand M.anifest an L, considering cooler heads prevailed after, but it proved Sarkodie's bona fides at a time when his prominence made him an easy target.
Khaligraph Jones - "Best Rapper in Nigeria"
ForKhaligraph Jones, being hostile on the mic is a way of life. Even on his groovier songs, the Kenyan rapper makes it a point of duty to be a hulking presence. That's why he relished the opportunity to go at Blaqbonez, immediately after the Nigerian rapper said Jones wasn't worthy of winning the award for Best Hip-Hop at the 2023 edition of the Soundcity Music Video Awards. Within a day of Blaq's statements, Jones declared himself the "Best Rapper in Nigeria," a reference to his foe's assertions of being Africa's best a few years prior.
Some of the best diss songs in rap history have a blatant level of toxic masculinity, and it felt like Jones had been waiting for a while to unleash some of that energy on an adversary. Over an ominous beat, Jones sounds like a predator chomping on hapless prey; he doesn't just address Blaqbonez like he's well above him, he raps at him like a disgusted OG. The bloodletting is so effective that, in hindsight, Blaqbonez's jibes on his response, "Green Blaq Green," come off as tantrums.
Tony Tetuila - "Omode Meta"
The beginning of modern Nigerian pop music, also known as Afrobeats, was primarily shaped by groups, particularly boy bands. Closing out the 1990s, the Remedies, comprising Eedris Abdulkareem, Eddy Remedy, and Tony Tetuila, were one of the scene's definitive acts, but they soon splintered, and out of that emerged "Omode Meta," arguably one of the top three greatest diss songs in Nigerian music history. The initial shock factor was that it was headlined by Tetuila, widely regarded as the least important member of the Remedies.Twenty-five years later, the significance of "Omode Meta" is impossible to understate, partly because it was ultra-effective in setting up Tetuila's seminal solo career, and also because it was a flat-out hit song that continues to be eternal. Featuring rap group Ruff Rugged N Raw, alongside 2Face Idibia and Blackface of Plantashun Boiz, Tetuila assembled a bunch of lyrical assassins to do the dirty work of tearing into his former groupmates, Abdulkareem especially, while he sang an immortal hook, aided by wonderful adlibs by Idibia, that instantly garnered public affection.
AKA - "Composure"
The beef between AKA and Cassper Nyovest had everything! There were tweets – a lot of tweets – and social media posts; there was drama, from a slap to allegations of a gun being pulled; and of course, there were diss tracks. After a couple of disses lobbed by Nyovest, AKA finally pulled up with the most potent words of the situation with "Composure," an ultra-assured slapper that's the audio equivalent of handing out a can of whoop-ass.
As soon as AKA opens his mouth on the glitzy beat, his level of confidence is preposterous. He's authoritative without the need for aggressive posturing; this is AKA in his element as a rap artist with Teflon swagger. He knows his opponents "hates me with a passion" but he comes off cool as ice under all that heat, issuing a raft of unforgettable quotables like "My niggas in position when they ring the bell/ They gonna get your pony tail like a Holy Grail." By the time Nyovest went personal with his reply, "Dust to Dust," you could smell the desperation on him – a sign that AKA's damage was indelible.
In the Arabic-speaking world, Marwan Moussa needs no introduction. The Egyptian German rapper and producer has dominated the rap scene for years, rising to fame for his hard-hitting bars and effortless flow. A man who enjoys bragadociousness and does it well, Moussa is the third most-streamed Arab rapper of all time and has received three All Africa Music Awards.After losing his mother to illness in October 2023, Moussa did not listen to music for six months. Then, he returned with "3AMEL EH" (W
In the Arabic-speaking world, Marwan Moussa needs no introduction. The Egyptian German rapper and producer has dominated the rap scene for years, rising to fame for his hard-hitting bars and effortless flow. A man who enjoys bragadociousness and does it well, Moussa is the third most-streamed Arab rapper of all time and has received three All Africa Music Awards.
After losing his mother to illness in October 2023, Moussa did not listen to music for six months. Then, he returned with "3AMEL EH" (What do I do) in July 2024, on which he opens up to his therapist about his depression, inviting listeners into a journey of climbing out of the darkness.
This week, Moussa revealed الرجل الذي فقد قلبه (The Man Who Lost His Heart), a conceptual framework for the introspective tracks he has been releasing. Throughout the album, the female voice we hear on "3AMEL EH" tells him that everyone deals with the same feelings in different ways. She introduces him to the five stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance - which he adopts as an artistic lens for the 23 tracks across five discs.
"I wanted to make a sad album, but I cannot say accurately what I was going through," Moussa tells OkayAfrica. "I was creating as I went and tried to fit songs into categories. Maybe creating these songs was therapeutic, but I cannot say accurately which stage I went through with which song."
Each disc has stylistic elements that bring Moussa's emotions to life. Denial sounds like string instruments and trap shaabi, a mix of dark trap beats over traditional Egyptian rhythms. Anger rises with Arabic scales and instruments like the Oud. "I felt like [anger] is a very Arab emotion and state," says Moussa. "It's how we express grief the most, especially as men."
His favorite track on the album, "TAQATO3," is on the anger disc. Starting rap-heavy, the track samples the iconic song "Shagar El Lamoon" by Egyptian singer Mohamed Mounir, before ebbing into a vibe that Moussa describes as "melancholic, somehow sad but euphoric."
Moussa wrote and recorded "TAQATO3" between Thailand and Los Angeles; the album came together in studios all over the world. "We just recorded in the places that we happened to be at, and we let it add color and flavors to the album, which I think added diversity to the songs," he says.
Bargaining heavily features the piano, the instrument Moussa associates with questioning. While the other discs have at least one feature, bargaining is the only emotional state he navigates completely alone. With track three of that disc, "Fahman Donya," he recently became the first Arabic-language rapper to perform on the global rap platform From The Block.
Depression is characterized by ambient, mournful textures. Moussa sings and bears his soul over simplistic, repetitive melodies that feature string instruments and the piano, carrying a distinguishable Egyptian rhythm that embeds the universal experience of loss in a specific cultural context.
Throughout the album, a male voice tells Moussa "hawil tiftikir" (try to remember), reminiscent of Kendrick Lamar’s use of voicenotes. However, Moussa did not have any musical influences for this project. "In the beginning, I thought that was a bad thing. Everything just came from the mind," he says. "But I hope that it will become more timeless because there are no musical reference points."
Acceptance closes the album with Moussa emerging on the other side. This disc is more playful, incorporating jazz piano, Afrobeats, and the assertion that he must keep trying. "[The album] is not about being sad or breaking up with someone. It's about losing someone who dies, specifically, "says Moussa. "I would love it if it helps someone navigate through a period of sadness. Like a map."
Now that he has revealed this deeply vulnerable and raw side of himself, will Moussa continue along this path? "I miss doing an ego song," he says and laughs. "I want to do music that makes me feel confident. That's what I love about classic rap: you say stuff, you feel cool, and it feels good. But that's not how I felt the past year, so I couldn't rap like that."
There's a common concern that Egyptian rap lost its authenticity when it became mainstream, and some voices mutter that the genre is dying out. Moussa agrees that rappers have not been at their best in recent years, but he has noticed a brooding resurgence.
"I think people will become more competitive in the next few months. The action is going to come back," he says. "I think we'll see some battles and hear music that feels like more time has been spent making it. I can feel it and am excited to be a part of it." TheMan Who Lost His Heart, with its poignant lyricism and expertly crafted sonic layers, can spearhead a revival of vanguard Egyptian rap, should it actually be on its way.
Fimí breezed into the scene with a certain ease. No viral breakout, no manufactured hype, just a steady presence and a sound that catches your ear for how self-assured it feels. Her flow is deliberate and fluid, shifting pace when it needs to, yet always holding its shape. There’s a sense that she’s not just here to participate; she’s here to build.
That quiet confidence also extends to how she presents herself. Online, she goes by Fimiwiththeflow, and there’s a certain calm in her delivery, li
Fimí breezed into the scene with a certain ease. No viral breakout, no manufactured hype, just a steady presence and a sound that catches your ear for how self-assured it feels. Her flow is deliberate and fluid, shifting pace when it needs to, yet always holding its shape. There’s a sense that she’s not just here to participate; she’s here to build.
That quiet confidence also extends to how she presents herself. Online, she goes by Fimiwiththeflow, and there’s a certain calm in her delivery, like someone who’s clear on the beat she’s choosing to walk to. In her visuals, she leans into contrast: one moment draped in a traditional buba and iro, the next, stepping out in a tailored skirt suit and church hat. All of it feels like her.
That same layering shows up in how she talks about her music. She’s not limited to a lane, and she knows it. “My fans already know I’m dynamic,” she says. “But I’m sure no one really knows the extent of it just yet, not even myself.” She speaks with interest about exploring fuji and highlife, not as a reinvention, but as a natural extension of the sound she’s shaping.
And that’s perhaps what makes Fimí such a compelling voice to watch. In this exclusive conversation, we meet a rapper whose flow, visuals, and vision are as distinctive as her name suggests.
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You’ve talked about growth a lot. How has your creative process changed between your Shawybee era and who you are now as Fimí?
Shawybee era was wild. I was running on pure vibes and Inshallah. No real structure, I just powered through off of pure passion. As Fimí, I’ve come to realise that it takes way more than that. It takes intentionality and commitment. Every little detail counts. My process feels spiritual sometimes, like I’m just a vessel and I create what I’m “inspired to” at a given moment. I still vibe sometimes, but now there’s purpose behind the creativity.
Pookie blended traditional elements with modern visuals. What’s one Nigerian cultural element you’re eager to explore more deeply in your music or visuals?
I’m looking to explore the rich beauty of my language (Yoruba) more in my music.
You mentioned “Let It Shine” as a major influence. What’s a movie, show, or book that recently inspired a verse or concept?
I’m obsessed with the “Friends” tv show, so I referenced Phoebe Bufay (one of the characters) in a cover I did a few weeks ago. I said “This ain’t no smelly cat, I’m just saying play with it Friendly, Phoebe Bufay it”
If you could design your dream stage performance; with no budget limit; what would it look and feel like?
Like freaking Coachella. It would be a whole festival with people playing dress up to come see me.
You hinted at wanting to act—what kind of role would be your dream debut, and which Nigerian director would you love to work with?
Any role really. I’d love to work with KemiAdetiba and KunleAfolayan.
What’s a part of your personality or story that fans still don’t fully know but you’d love to share through your music soon?
My fans already know I’m dynamic, but I’m sure no one really knows the extent of it just yet, not even myself. But for the sake of the question, I’d say my sense of humor.
You joked about mumble rap, but what’s one “non-Fimí” genre or trend you’d actually love to experiment with?
Fuji for sure. I love how absolutely naughty Fuji and highlife was and how the OGs got away with it every time.
If you could form a rap trio with two other artists, local or international, who would they be and why?
Easy. KendrickLamar, DojaCat and Fimí combo would eat. I love when artists are unapologetically themselves and not afraid to explore their creativity even if it looks like it doesn’t make any sense some times (shoutout to Doechii, Tyler and FoggieRaw too. I wish I could make a whole band instead of a trio).
What’s your writing routine like—are you a notes app girl, voice memos, or old-school pen and paper?
I’m a “this crazy punchline just dropped in my head while I’m doing dishes, I need to dry my hands on my butt and write it down in my notes app then record the melody on my phone so I don’t forget it” kinda girl.
You said this feels like your year. What would “making it” look like to you at the end of 2025?
At the end of 2025, I’m opening shows for major artists both locally and internationally. Maybe even headlining my own show, could be a small and intimate gathering. Overall, getting stopped on the street by someone who says, “Your song helped me through something.” That, to me, is making it.
Looking back at “Altruists” and now at “Pookie,” what advice would you give 10-year-old gospel-rap Fimí?
I’d say “Don’t dim your light to fit in. Keep writing those weird rhymes in your notebook. You’re not crazy for dreaming big. Also, record everything. You’ll want to look back and smile at how far you’ve come.”
If someone new to your music had to start with just one track, which one would you choose and why?
This is a tough one, I’m very emotionally attached to all my songs. But I’d say start with ‘Hey Shawy’. It’s very vulnerable and tells a story about my dreams and ambitions — my transition from Shawybee to Fimí.
What’s your approach to visuals? Do you plan your concepts alongside the music or let the sound guide the story after it’s done?
It’s a mix. Sometimes, I see the visual before the beat is even done. Like a scene flashes in my mind. Other times, the music reveals the story.
Shawybee, Altruists, Let it Shine, Friends and Pookie; What do these five words mean to you?
Shawybee: My first voice, my essence. Before I had direction or a sound, I just had something to say, and I said it loud. She was fearless in the way only someone still figuring it out can be.
Altruist: The beginning of my journey. It was my first attempt at translating what I felt into something people could feel too.
Let it Shine: My origin story. The movie that made little me feel seen. It told me I wasn’t weird for writing raps in my notebook or dreaming about stages I hadn’t touched yet.
Friends: My mirror, my safe space. They knew and saw me before Fimí.
Pookie: Innovative. Infusing two genres that’s never been done is nothing short of an innovation.
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